Different
by Tracy Space Cowgirl
Summary: Loss draws deep scars. Some are just better at hiding scars than others. Lex POV. Post "Stray"


Different

By Tracy (biancaheart@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating:PG

  
Category: Lex POV.

Spoilers:  "Stray"

Summary:   Loss draws deep scars.  Some are just better at hiding scars than others. Lex POV.

  
Disclaimer:  Don't own Smallville.  Wish I did though.  Badly.

Things would be different if you were here.  Hell, the days when you were here were the best days that I've ever had in this family in 21 years.

It wouldn't have been perfect, granted.  I'm not that delusional to think that I'd be in a freaking Disney cartoon if you were here.  But they'd be different.

I saw that kid Ryan follow Clark around like a little puppy dog.  He looked at Clark as if he was a superhero.  I really got into comic books after…you know.  Anything was better than facing real life at the Luthor house, seeing Mom slip away and see the small, slight, human side of my father that surfaced in the short time when you were here.

In comic books, anybody can be a hero.  The best heroes are the most unlikely; the nerdy guy with glasses; the orphaned circus boy.  Even a bald guy can be a hero in a comic book.

I don't understand why now, out of all times, I'm sitting here in a graveyard talking to you.   

  
Hanging out in a graveyard is not okay behavior.  

I'm supposed to be talking to my father about my future; not dwelling on the past.

And even though I try not to,  I wonder what you would have been like.  Would you have red hair like I did when I was younger…when I had hair?  You would have hair- you wouldn't be exposed to any damn meteorite shower and become a preadolescent who couldn't even seek sanctuary in Rogaine.  I'd hate you for your hair, you know that?

  
You would be the good son.  The Luthor heir, obviously.  Who would want a bald son to carry on the family line, name, and money if there was a perfectly handsome son?  

  
You were closer to our father in your short life than I've been to him in 21 years.  

  
He was proud of you.

And no matter how many companies I conquer, how many millions of dollars I make, and no matter what I do, he will never come close to being as happy with me as he was when he held you.

Would we be friends?  

He'd try to push us away from each other, set us in competition with each other for his own twisted pleasure.  Make me think that I could be in his favor.  

I'd probably run away from home and live a bohemian existence in Europe.  Or maybe I'd move to Smallville.  I actually like it there, you know?  There's something about a small town that sucks you in, that won't let you upset.  Maybe it's the fact that people aren't out to play games like that in Smallville.  Sure, there's weird effects of the residual meteor rocks, but it's nothing like Metropolis.  Nothing.

Sometimes I like to think that we would be friends.   That we would take all of Lionel Luthor's pretense and stupidity and throw it in the trashcan.  That we would gang up against him, the Luthor Brothers.  That actually sounds pretty good.  Lex and Julian Luthor.  Alexander and Julian Luthor.  

  
You'd be 10 years old if you were here.

That plan on kicking our father's ass would have to wait a bit longer.

I remember the first time I saw you.  You were all scrunchy and red.  Your little baby hand wrapped itself around my finger.

Mom was blissful when she brought you home.  All the servants were waiting to catch a glimpse of you.  They threw a big party that night.

Everyone was in town for the christening.  Grandfather and Grandmother Luthor, Grandma and Grandpa- Mom's parents, as well as a score of relatives that I still can't distinguish from the other.  

I wore my new suit, the suit that I got to stand up beside Mom and Father while you were baptized to your funeral.

I remember the paparazzi, and light bulbs flashing.

  
The death of a Luthor is pretty big news.

I remember as they slid the coffin into the mausoleum.  I thought it was so terrible that they put you in there.  You were all closed up, and all alone.

  
Father told me not to cry.

I died this October.  No, really.  I died.  There was something in the road, and there was a wreck.  And I died…it was like my soul was soaring over Smallville.

Did it feel like that for you?  What did it feel like to die?  Were you even aware of it?

I know you won't answer me.

  
The search for the truth isn't that easy.

Nothing in life or death ever is.

I haven't thought or talked about you in years.  . Not until Clark asked me how I would feel.  Everyone assumes I'm an only child because there's not a word to express what happened.  You're not an orphan, you're not a widower, you're a child left with more questions than they can handle.  You're forced to grow up. I didn't want to deal with the looks, and saying "I'm an oldest-only."  That doesn't fit in the birth order book- I looked.  I even got my nanny to ask the author.  There isn't a freaking answer.  

  
I'm not like Lana who tells just about everyone her life story and her loss.  It had to be traumatic, to actually see her parents die.  I didn't see you die.  Mom didn't come to help me get dressed for the christening.  She was late.  Maybe if I had seen it; maybe I could have protected you.  I was the freaking damn big brother, for crying out loud!  I should have done something, I could have done something.  I wasn't a defenseless four year old girl in a fairy princess costume.  I was an eleven year old boy in an Armani suit.  I don't trust many people.  And so I don't tell them about you.

But it was like I needed to tell Clark about you, to prove that you existed.  That you weren't just a story made up in my head.  That you were real.  

Things would be different if you were here.

But that would be easy.

  
Nothing in life or death ever is.


End file.
